


Lighthouse

by amaira



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post Season 6, Season 6 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaira/pseuds/amaira
Summary: A love that transcends labelsAlternately: Shiro sorts out some feelings and Keith takes care of him.





	Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saasan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saasan/gifts).



> Saasan says: I'm legit a bit pissed that I will never be able to write a Sheith story that is better than their canon love.
> 
> amaira says: Then run with it!

Shiro wakes to wind howling around the corners of whatever building he’s in now. It’s dark, and the room looks faintly Garrison, but it’s been so long and he doesn’t know if he remembers what the Garrison actually looks like. The blanket slips off him as he sits up, and he slides back down, huddling in on himself. The room is cool and gray, but his bed is warm, so much warmer than the Garrison ever was before.

There’s a soft sigh beside him, and then an arm around his chest and a face pressed against his shoulder, lips brushing the stump of his right arm.

“You okay, Shiro?” Keith’s voice is a rasp, a whisper. He shuffles a little closer and props himself up on an elbow. His eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, study Shiro’s face.

Shiro attempts to reach up to Keith, frowning and then grimacing at the discomfort in his right shoulder. It’s still raw where they – someone – removed the last of the prosthetic. It’s hard to remember that he’s down to one arm again. He switches to his left hand and tucks Keith’s hair behind his ear.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs, and Keith settles at his side with a satisfied hum.

They’ve been back here a few days, now, and Shiro has floated in and out of consciousness with the frailty of a dry leaf in the fall. But Keith is here, next to him, and that makes it better. His best friend. The label is warm, but doesn’t sit quite right. It’s insufficient.

All he knows is that nothing makes him feel human again like laying his head on Keith’s chest and falling asleep listening to the thump of his heartbeat.

He shuffles closer and tucks his head under Keith’s chin, smiling as Keith’s arms come up around his neck and hold him.

******

Shiro wakes again in the early morning. A hazy glow seeps through the curtains. Keith is already up and out of bed, pulling on pajama pants and a t-shirt.

He’s taller now. Broader, too. He’s out the door and back again in less than five minutes, food in hand.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he says, laying the plate on a side table and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers reach out to thread through Shiro’s hair, and nothing has ever felt so warm and comforting. “Feeling up to breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Shiro yawns.

Keith helps him sit up, then shakes up a bottle of something, opens it, and curls Shiro’s left hand around it. “Meal replacement shakes for now,” he explains.

It smells like chocolate. Tastes like it, too. Tears gather in Shiro’s eyes; he hasn’t had chocolate in years, and all the homesickness he shoved down in captivity spills out now. Keith takes the bottle from him and pulls him close, murmuring soothing words in his ear.

Shiro doesn’t hear them; he’s too surprised and distracted by the rough, puckered skin on Keith’s cheek. He hadn’t noticed it before. His fingers brush over it.

“What,” he chokes, “what happened?”

Keith drops his eyes. He catches Shiro’s hand and leans into it. “A fight.”

Keith’s hand ghosts over Shiro’s right shoulder, settling just above the stump. He has tears in his eyes now, too.

“How did I lose it again?” Shiro asks.

He has all the impostor’s memories; in a way, adding his spirit to the impostor’s body was like reuniting two halves of a whole. Body and soul. Mind and heart. But he’s discovered, over the past few days, that it’s difficult to call up memories he didn’t make without knowing they should be there.

Keith slumps forward, still clinging to Shiro’s shoulder, and rests his head on Shiro’s chest. “I did it. The witch was – she was controlling you – the clone – through it.”

Shiro nods. No wonder he can’t remember it; the moments where he was mind-controlled are more difficult than most.

Whatever emotion is building in Keith, he swallows it down and sits up straight. “Feeling up to seeing everyone else? They’ve all been worried.”

Shiro gets the feeling that the moment is gone, only he doesn’t know exactly what kind of moment it was.

“Yeah,” he says, swinging his legs off the bed and planting his feet on the floor. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he attempts to stand.

Not even a second after pushing off from the bed, he sways, left arm shooting out to try to balance. The lack of a right arm only makes it worse, though, and Keith grabs his waist.

“Hey. I got you.” He smiles up at Shiro; it’s a little strained. “Where to?”

Shiro hadn’t thought that far ahead. He feels a little gross with lingering sweat and several days of doing little more than the most basic bodily functions. He’s sure his undershirt and boxers smell awful, too.

“Well, I would have liked a shower, but I’m not sure I can stand in one,” he muses.

Keith begins to lead him to the bathroom anyway. “There’s a pretty big bathtub in there. I can help you in and out.” He freezes, and blushes. “I mean, unless you’re uncomfortable with it. Then, uh, I...”

Shiro rests his cheek on Keith’s forehead, interrupting the stammered apologies. He knows Keith offered without thinking. He knows Keith would be covering his face with his hands right now if they weren’t otherwise occupied. It’s so like him, to be so giving of himself and oblivious to everything else when it comes to Shiro.

“I appreciate your help, Keith. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

They shuffle to the bathroom together. Shiro leans against the sink, watching while Keith begins filling the tub. It has the fancy water jets all around the edge, and could probably fit three people comfortably.

Keith stands and turns back to him, reaching his hands out to the hem of Shiro’s undershirt. His fingers skim the edge.

“You’re sure it’s alright?”

“I’m sure.”

Keith still hesitates, so Shiro begins pawing at the collar of the shirt behind his neck, trying to tug it off. He sways again. Keith panics and pulls him into a hug.

“You have to be more careful, Shiro,” he scolds, voice wavering.

Shiro sighs and lets his hand settle on the back of Keith’s neck. “Then I’ll need your help.”

He raises his arm up, and Keith lifts the shirt off in one clean motion. There’s a lot more hesitation in helping remove the boxers, but eventually Shiro is able to kick them off. He looks down, surveying the bruises he knows he still has, and freezes.

Why is his hair down there... white?

“Keith?”

A few gestures and stammered questions and answers later, Shiro discovers that Keith can blush a darker red than his scar.

He also learns that his hair is white everywhere.

Keith shuts off the tub faucet while Shiro stares into the mirror.

His hair is white. His eyes are brown.

When he realized that he was in the clone's body, he had expected it to feel a little foreign, and he knew he’d likely need a lot of therapy to come to terms with it.

But this is something else entirely. It’s a stranger’s face staring back at him. It might as well be reaching out to choke him, for how little he can breathe.

“Shiro?” Keith’s arms are around his waist again, a little higher this time. “Hey. Bath’s ready.”

He lets Keith lead him to the tub, steadying him as he steps in and holding him tight as he crouches. All he can do is stare at the water, at the fine white hairs down his legs.

He might be sick.

Keith quickly strips off his pajamas and shirt, and perches on the edge of the tub. “Want me to get your hair and back?”

Shiro nods.

Keith lathers up Shiro’s hair, tilting Shiro’s head back to keep the shampoo out of his face. His fingers running through the hair almost make it feel right.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he says.

Shiro blinks them open, then shut again. He didn’t know he’d closed them in the first place.

Water spills onto his head in small bursts, then Keith huffs.

“You might need to dip your head in the water.”

Shiro nods, and Keith gently guides him under, then back up. A moment later, he’s scrubbing soap into Shiro’s back.

Honestly, he could get used to this. There’s no one he cares about more in this or any other universe than Keith. Something about this casual intimacy feels right.

He tries to smile up at his best friend, but it falls away at the sight of all the bruises on Keith’s chest and back.

“Keith, what happened?” Shiro reaches his hand out to brush against a particularly yellow bruise at the bottom of Keith’s ribs. The burn scar picks up again at Keith’s collarbone, too.

“Fight,” Keith answers. The same answer he gave for the scar on his face.

Shiro frowns. “Who did this to you?”

Keith’s hands pause. He sighs. “You – the clone – did.”

All the air leaves Shiro’s lungs. He scrambles back, chokes, collapses into the water. Keith is over him immediately, yanking him up and into another hug.

“Shiro. Shiro, it’s okay,” he murmurs into his hair – the white hair, not his hair.

There’s no shirt to cling to, so Shiro’s fingers curl uselessly against Keith’s chest. He did this. He so brutally beat and bruised the one person who means everything to him.

Keith gently rocks him back and forth. “It’s okay,” he says again, pressing a kiss against Shiro’s forehead. Shiro tries to protest, and Keith cuts him off. “Shiro, I cut off your arm of my own free will. That’s a lot worse than you doing something while not in your right mind.” Another kiss. “You’re my brother, and I love you, and I forgive you.”

Shiro cries hard enough that they have to wash his face twice.

******

Turns out the Garrison built this place just for them after Sam Holt got back. There are bedrooms for every Paladin, plus Coran, plus a half dozen extras for any future diplomats.

As Keith settles in for the night, stepping out of his jeans, Shiro asks him why he doesn’t have his own room.

“I do,” Keith says, “but I’d rather be here, with you.”

The frankness of it surprises Shiro. Keith slides into the bed next to him and smiles, reaching out to brush a thumb over one of Shiro’s eyebrows.

“I like the white hair. It suits you.”

Shiro frowns. “And the brown eyes?”

“They’re yours, so I like them.”

He frowns harder. “Why so frank now? You never were before.”

The smile vanishes from Keith’s face, and Shiro wants to chase it and put it back. Keith’s hand trails to the side of Shiro’s neck.

“We almost died. I’m not going to let anything go unsaid anymore.”

Shiro cups his hand over Keith’s. “I don’t remember that part.”

He finally did remember the fight, the cruel things he’d said to Keith, how he’d tried to kill him. He doesn’t remember almost dying as part of that. His memories, disjointed as they are, merely jump directly to speaking with Keith inside the Black Lion.

“You were unconscious,” Keith whispers. “The platform collapsed, and you almost fell, and I caught you. I was hanging by my knife.” He licks his lips and sighs. “But I couldn’t climb back up while I had you, so... I just hung on, until the knife gave out and we both fell. Black caught us.”

Shiro shuffles closer to Keith. Their knees knock together. He almost elbows Keith’s shoulder, but manages to get his arm around Keith’s back and pull him close.

“You should have let me go, Keith.”

“Nope.”

“But you would have died if not for Black.”

“I know.” Keith’s eyes glitter in the dim light. “I knew it then, too.”

Shiro chokes up again, but this time he’s not alone.

“I told you,” Keith continues, voice thick with tears, “you’re my brother and I love you. And I’ll keep telling you that until you get it.”

Brother. It’s warmer, softer, more right than best friend, but still not enough.

“Brother,” Shiro says aloud, testing the word on his tongue.

Keith’s mouth twists into a wry grin. “You’re my family. More than Krolia, more than my dad.” He drops his eyes. “Still doesn’t seem quite right, though.”

Shiro squirms even closer to Keith. Their legs tangle together, and Keith tucks his head under Shiro’s chin, leaving Shiro to press his lips to Keith’s forehead this time.

“I love you, too, Keith. You’re everything to me,” he whispers. “Who says we need to call it anything?”

He can feel Keith’s smile against his collarbone. “No one, I guess.” Soft lips press against his neck. “I love you.”

Shiro squeezes Keith. “You don’t have to stop saying it.”

Keith snorts. “And I never will.” He’s silent for a moment, then says, “What about partners?”

“Anything, as long as I have you.” Shiro smiles and nuzzles his face against Keith’s, pressing their lips together. It’s right.

“Always,” Keith whispers against Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro dives in for one more kiss. He feels whole again. “Thank you, Keith.”


End file.
